


Familiar

by crownedserpent



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Foreplay, Not really it's just a slow-burn smutfic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedserpent/pseuds/crownedserpent
Summary: "If I feared you, you wouldn't be here."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been Lotura trash since the original series back in the 80s/90s, and one thing I am glad this reboot has done is flesh out character arcs, particularly where Lotor's love for Allura comes from. If you haven't watched the latest season yet, it's a doozy and wraps up a lot of the plot threads established in previous seasons. Lotor and Allura's dynamic is arguably one of my favorite things about the show.

It is strange, standing on the other side of what he can only call perdition.

The throne is empty, a singularity drawing him in, anxious for his weight, but the Prince has never been one to sit idle like some despot, lording over his subjects with bored detachment. He did not prove his mettle and competence by hiding behind his royal bloodline. He sweat and bled, and bled many, many others. From his father, he derived his strength of will, and loathe as he is to admit it: from his mother, he derives his cunning. Half-breed that he is, he knows there is no one better-suited to ruling the Galra Empire than he.

But an Empire is vast and all-consuming, and the work of rebuilding requires more than one pair of hands, more than one sharp, forward-thinking mind. So he tears his gaze away from the singularity of his father’s— _his_ —throne, to the burgeoning light of his life, to the only other worthy of the task, to her.

Allura.

Her name is truth of her demeanor: she is poised, statuesque, a warrior, and most importantly: a thinker. Lotor watches her lead the Paladins to victory, watches her act with unflinching determination as she decides that rebuilding the Galra Empire aligns with her vision of peace. He too craves peace and prosperity…but power is its own vice, and he craves it more than either of those things. Control, exacting and precise, that is what he craves.

And her.

Love, Lotor knows, is a tool of madness, but a tool nonetheless. It is a tool, and as such can be used to manipulate the weak. Lust is even more so. Combined, one can bind loyalty and devotion inextricably.

“Are you alright?” Allura asks him. She always asks him this, and no one else ever does. Her companions are all still wary of his presence, looking upon him like a serpent wandering indoors despite all of his actions. He keeps his word—he will always keep his word—but he is Galra first and always. If they expect him to bare his soul and be caught in moments as vulnerable as sentimentality, they are more fool than he gives them credit for.

Allura asks him if he is alright, however, and Lotor feels himself compelled to lie to her, though it pains him to do so.

“I’ll be fine.” The words come from him automatically. The pain is there, a dull ache in his breast, but he dismisses it, as he does all things that can be considered weakness. Allura’s slender hand comes to rest on his forearm, delicate fingers gentle as she halts his dismissal in its tracks with a soft expression. Lotor meets her gaze, and he is unsure how to face the naked concern in the eddying starlight of her eyes, her lips downturned in an empathic frown.

He smiles. “Thank you for your concern, Allura.” He says, laying his hand over hers. “We’ve been busy for some time, and an Emperor’s work is never done. Nor, I imagine, is a princess’. We’ve earned some respite, I think.”

Allura smiles and he resists the urge to reach up to cup her face in his hand and run his thumb along her lush lower lip.

“What do the Galra do to pass the time when they aren’t…conquering?” She asks, and then laughs at her own joke.

“Do you really want to know, princess?” Lotor asks wryly. Allura’s demeanor shifts, as it so often does between them. Her smile sharpens, and she tilts her head.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.” She says and it’s all Lotor needs.

“Very well.” He says at last. “Tonight, then. I’ll show you what Galra do for pleasure when we’re not conquering our enemies.”

Allura looks as casual as if they are merely discussing the weather.

“I look forward to it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a thing, now.

The evening deepens around the castle as Allura unpins her hair. In the safety of the Castle of Lions, she is relieved to finally be able to get rest for the night. She unpins her hair, combing it out with her fingers until the curls are thick and gleaming like bands of starlight against her burnished skin. Being in stasis for millennia did little to dissuade her from rest, she realized with a laugh. But it had sharpened her acute desire for companionship.

With no other Alteans aside from Coran, Lotor had been the first to express intense interest and respect for Altean culture. Not only that, but he was chosen, like her. So much had happened.

And then came the kiss.

Allura had been caught up—they both had. The unmitigated joy of unlocking the alchemical secrets of their shared heritage had been heady, and in their excitement, away from the prying and suspicious eyes of their companions, he’d brought her close, into his arms, and kissed her. She hadn’t even been upset, had merely thrown her arms around him and the kiss had deepened by the time either of them regained the senses enough to pull away.

It had changed everything between them.

Later, when they had time, they spoke of it, and speaking made them both realize they craved the same thing. Allura could not deny the electric thrill that raced in her veins with each touch. Eventually, his lips claimed other parts of her, and Allura stopped them both before they did something they both regretted.

The knock on her door brings her toward the present, her heart racing. When she opens it, Lotor stands, silvered by the soft light of the Castle’s cycled lighting.

“Am I disturbing you, princess?” He asks, and before he can grin, she is pulling him forward with both hands, into her private chambers, the door sliding closed behind him.

They meet in a clash of lips and teeth. They are warriors both, but there is a brutality in the Galra that offsets the innate grace of the Altean. Allura’s arms come around his neck, and she yields to his mouth, parting her lips to draw his breath.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get a moment alone again.” She whispers, even as Lotor’s fingers pluck deftly at the stays of her shirt. He chuckles, his breath a warm stream against the skin of her throat.

“It is to be expected. We are each the leaders of our people, princess. Our time is no longer our own, and so we must take joy whenever the opportunity presents itself.” He pulls away, holding her at arm’s length. Allura searches his face with hushed expectancy. Lotor does what he has longed to do since he first lit the flame and claimed his birthright. He reaches up, cups her face, and runs his thumb unhurried along her lower lip.

“I will admit,” Allura says softly, leaning into his touch, “I would not have expected patience and reason from the Prince of the Galra.”

Lotor smiles. “We are not savages, princess. Aggressive, yes; brutal, most efficiently so, but never savage. You’ve no reason to fear me any longer.”

Allura steps in close enough that he can smell the cloying scent of whatever soap she uses along with the slightly sour musk of her own sweat. The stays of her blouse are open and loose, and he can see the curves of her breasts within. He imagines tearing the blouse the rest of the way, but Allura has summoned him, and it is her choice that he prioritizes.

“If I feared you, you wouldn’t be here.” Allura says wryly, as if he is a fool to ever admit such a thing. She turns her head, dropping a kiss to the palm of his hand. So simple a gesture, but to Lotor it is more intimate than skin. He takes his hand away and makes a fist. He can feel the brand of her kiss on his hand, as if she has marked him for her own. 

“No.” He says. “I would not.”

Allura laughs. “Then what are we waiting for?” She teases. “You promised to show me what Galra do for pleasure, remember?”

Lotor grows bold with her approval, hooking a finger into her unlaced blouse to further undo it. He pulls her even closer, and can feel her breath catch as he peels the blouse away, down her arms, letting it flutter forgotten to the floor. He sucks in a breath of appreciation.

Allura is, if nothing else, the product of Altean training both in posture and etiquette, but combat, and it shows. She bears the marks of a warrior beneath her thick layers of her formal decorum. There, a rough patch of skin along her hips, likely worn there from a weapons belt. He reaches for it, brushing it with his fingertips. She jerks away with a soft “Oh!” and makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a nervous laugh, “I’ve just…it’s been millennia.”

Lotor wants to lie and agree, but in truth, his lack of companionship is a pragmatic choice, and not brought on by stasis. For a moment, he pities Allura, frozen in time, never allowed the experience and pleasures of life. He blames his father for having stolen those precious years from her, knowing he cannot make up for the loss in a single night. He entertains the vision of their future, having already found his Empress in her. She is more than worthy.

“We can go slowly, then.” Lotor says after that long stretch of quiet, his fingertips lingering near that rough patch of skin. Allura nods wordlessly. With a querying glance, Lotor waits.

“Yes.” She says, breathing permission between them. “Please.”

With a smile, Lotor pulls her close, lowering his head to kiss her. For him, the dizzying and electric thrill of the first time is tempered by the sentient coil of contentment. For Allura, kissing Lotor is like breathing in what could be. She believes, even as her arms come around him, even as she feels the unbridled heat of him against her skin, that this is right.

And a small part of her whispers that some of it is a bit _wrong_ , too.

The kiss deepens, the two of them reveling in the unfamiliar taste of the other, and Allura gasps with surprise as Lotor pulls away with a barely audible gasp, and returns her blouse. Clothed, Allura is slightly stung, thinking she has said or done somewhat to offend him.

“Lotor…” She whispers, alarm creeping into her voice. “Is everything…?”

Lotor smiles, shaking his head.

“No, princess.” He says. “I feel that now is not the time for this. If we’re to have each other, I’d rather do it properly. Not sneaking about your castle like some thief.”

Allura bristles a little at the thought, amusing though it be. “I’m not a child, Lotor. If you’re worried the others might think it indecent need I remind you that Altean culture doesn’t place such antiquated beliefs on its women.”

Lotor feels something akin to pride swell within him. 

“No,” he agrees, “it does not. Still, I’d much rather have your properly.” He lowers his head, and Allura feels his smile cut across her skin like a blade. He speaks the words as if they are just as affectionate as the others they’ve traded between them over the long months they’ve spent together:

 

“Somewhere you can scream, preferably.”

 

Her heart leaps into her throat. She’s no stranger to filth, but there is something about his tone that sets her blood ablaze, her face hot not with embarrassment, but with excitement. Lotor knows what needs to be said, and she does not doubt for one moment that he knows what needs to be done. It takes all of her discipline not to beg him to have there on the bedroom floor, decorum and appearances be damned.

Lotor withdraws, taking the heat with him, leaving her caught between the decision and indecision. As always, he leaves her to take the lead, to make the decision, and nothing in his gaze pressures her to one or the other. He does, however, hold out his hand.

“Princess Allura,” he says, “perhaps another journey into the quintessence field is at hand.”

She knows they shouldn’t, knows it is a blatant mishandling of unmatched power, but curiosity burns within her breast as surely as her determination to unlock the secrets of quintessence energy.

_All_ of its secrets.

Allura reaches forward and takes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those who haven't finished season six, this fic isn't spoiler-y per se, but Lotor and Allura DID kiss, right before it was discovered that [redacted]. I felt like not enough time passed between their falling in love and [redacted], so I sort of headcanon that there's been a lot more experimental kissing and fooling around before [redacted] happened. For those who know about [redacted], thanks for giving this fic a chance. I've been shipping these two for decades, but this reboot finally put some meat on the bone of Lotor's almost devotional love for Allura.


End file.
